


The Courtship of Dragons

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: Years ago, Soren was able to meet his mother again, but he never forgot the one boy who showed him kindness. Now, Prince Soren of Goldoa meets Commander Ike on the cusp of war. His attempts to woo Ike in the way of the dragon laguz are not entirely understood.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97





	1. Prologue: Leaving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaperBagGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperBagGirl/gifts).



> So, fun fact, this originated around 08 and 09 and has been in various stages of completion for a very long time. Originally it had about 8 chapters, but I added on a little more. So, probably ten once this is all over?
> 
> For HT.

Prologue: Leaving 

Dragons are notoriously attached to their brood. There is little in nature to explain the viciousness of a mother dragon protecting her young, except perhaps a mother bear. They are similar in the same kind of relentless destruction that getting between their children and them will cause. As the dragons in their humanoid form look similar to the beorc kind, there have been cases of young dragons being taken into slavery and their mothers heaping destruction upon every surrounding living being, innocent or guilty to the crime.

There have been many recorded instances of female dragons driven to complete violence upon being separated from their children, the most notable instance being Ithshild the Red who went on a rampage of destruction upon losing her mate and child and destroyed ten country towns and one large city in the territory now called Begnion. Herons attempted to help her regain her mind, but she had fallen too far and perished from mourning.  
-from The Dragonkind of Goldoa by Lehryna the Wanderer as told to Sephiran Duke of Persis, chancellor of Begnion and adviser to the Apostle.

It was times like this that made Juleg regret that he took nigh every job that came. The woman had wore the Daein seal, and had a regal air about her. Juleg had worked with nobles enough to know one on sight. Finding cattle might earn him enough coins to make it through the entire winter, so much that he might even take a night or two to sup alone and rest in the heat of the firelight.

But, that was before this terrible wind had come in and made the whole damned country even more of a winter wasteland. It was freezing, even for Daein standards. Juleg blew on his hole-ridden gloves to try and find some semblance of warmth. He'd been out all day on this job, ever since he'd heard a tip form a cutpurse in a back alley that a red-eyed boy was in the alleys. He'd been chased away from the street fires lit in refuse piles, with stones and screams of _branded scum!_ called after him. And for once, the boy was lucky because had it been any warmer, it wouldn't have merely been harsh words and stones.

He'd scoured half of this damn city, and lived to tell about it, without even a bit of coin lost. All the little streetrats and cutpurses knew to not take a chance with Juleg. He'd been blessed with a big frame, big enough to get him into the colosseum. The scars he'd gotten along the way with his many jobs and trip to the pit helped finish the job, until few thieves would dare even face him, let alone try for his gold.

If he didn't hurry, the boy would be found frozen in a corner, if anything was left should any of those rocks fly true, only to leave his carcass for the stray dogs to clean down to the bone.

She hadn't even seen the boy since his birth, when he'd been stolen away. He had scraps to go on and damn little else, but Juleg didn't give up easy. Not when it came to coin.

(And though he wouldn't admit it aloud: not when it came to a helpless child slowly freezing to death in the Daein cold.)

At first, it looked like just another pile of refuse. But then, he saw something move there. Juleg came a bit closer. In a corner, huddled in a tattered blanket, he caught a flash of black. It was when the boy looked up and he saw those piercing, unnerving red eyes that he knew this was his mark.

She might've not had much to tell him, but she'd said _he has my eyes_ and that was all Juleg needed to know. Her gaze had been unnerving, like the tales of women who sucked out your soul and ate your very marrow.

She was not a woman to be crossed.

Tiny as he was, Juleg could see the resemblance to his client as he got closer. The eyes, especially. Except hers were filled with far more simmering under the surface.

The boy drew back, too cold to run. He shivered uncontrollably. Had Juleg come much later, he'd have brought back a frozen corpse to his client.

"There you are. Now, you're mother's awaiting. And there'll be warmth aplenty where we're going."

The boy's teeth were chattering so much that he couldn't even respond. Juleg pulled a blanket out from the bag at his back. It was large enough that the boy was lost in it a moment until he folded, partly.

He looked much too small to be ten.

He hoisted the boy up into his arms, with a mutter of _"Up you go."_

The shock of the moment passed and warmed by the blanket, the boy sputtered and hissed like a caught stray cat. He clawed at Juleg, with flashing teeth and red eyes. But the thick woolen blanket kept the boy somewhat contained.

"A fighter, ain't you? Good thing I put on my gauntlets," Juleg said.

He clutched the boy to his chest and carried him off into night. The words on the boy's lips weren't a cry for help, but a whisper of _I must find him..._

*

The journey was longer than Juleg would’ve liked. The little brat had bitten him twice now, and he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood. He’d been forced to grip tight to him, left he try and escape again. With any other common criminal, Juleg would've simply tied and gagged the bastards, but such rough tactics would only turn the lady against him. Besides, it left a bad taste in his mouth, the thought of harming a little one. Even if this one seemed more beast than baby, with his sharp teeth and piercing red eyes.

The streetrats and cutpurses were convinced he was a genuine branded, but Juleg wasn't so sure. He had a hard time thinking Their own Mad King would take a subhuman for a lover.

As it was, bites and bruises would heal to join all his other scars, as long as this wary boy wasn't full of curses. The boy stared out with a hateful glance, like something a child would think lurks in the dark under their bed.

"Would you rather be left to die of cold? The lady's gone and paid good coin for you. Says she's your mother."

"I have no mother," the boy said. He was finally warm enough to speak again, and he gave Juleg sass. Wasn't that just like his life?

"Well, you do now," Juleg said. "So lift up your head and be a good little one. Stay warm and quiet for a bit. We'll be there before you know it."

He had little to give a child. No toys, or comfort or tricks to make the boy smile. There was a flask at his back which would help with warmth, but even he wouldn't give a child drink.

Besides, he wanted to save that for himself when this was all over.

Instead, the boy ducked his head. With a sigh, Juleg pulled the scarf from his own face and wrapped it about his face. He managed all this feat with one hand, the other kept the boy close to keep him from running off. "There. Can't have you catching cold. Your mother wouldn't like that. Probably would dock coin for that."

Besides, Juleg was no father, but even he wasn't cruel enough to leave a child in the cold. Being a mercenary meant he had to set aside whatever morals he had for coin. But he wouldn't harm a child.

Or at least, that's what he told himself. He'd helped break that poor boy's heart, with the curly hair and the big eyes. Until his dying day he'd hear those tears, and Juleg was a man who'd gone to the colosseum and cut down fellow soldiers for the sport of the people. He'd heard men beg for their lives and given them no mercy before.

And still, nothing had haunted him more than that little curly haired boy sent back to the orphanage. Snot down his chin, shuddering with sobs and such a hopeless look in his eye.

Hopefully his client would like this son better than her last.

*

The woman awaited him at his home. She stood tall and imposing in before the hearth, her dress cast monstrous shadows across the walls. She had the look of an aristocrat, though she came from no royal family he’d ever seen. She had a manner of looking down through half-drawn lids that reduced him to slightly above the level of street refuse.

But that raven dark hair, those eyes. He could see shades of her in this boy. It was striking how much he resembled her. He must not take after his father at all.

Juleg finally dared to set the little one down. His windows were far too high up for the boy to pry open, and froze shut with frost at that. Juleg took guard at the door as his client approached who she claimed was her son.

As long as he didn't got touching his rack of weapons, it'd be fine. But then, the boy seemed old enough to know better.

Her face softened. "My boy, I've finally found you... My son..." She bent down before the boy, arms outstretched.

The boy drew back at her touch, with a wary, and scared glance.

"All these years, and he does not even recognize me?" She bowed her head in sorrow. "I have lost even that which I love most..."

"Hard to think he'd forget you, you're pretty memorable, lady." If she’d not been out of favor with the king, maybe his head would be on a plate for that. As it was, she gave him a lingering glance that spoke without words how she could tear apart his flesh without even a thought.

She said no more to him and turned her attention back to her child.

He’d already brought one child before her; a small, shy curly haired boy who had looked so hopeful at first, and so heartbroken to be turned away. That’d only soured his opinion of her further, watching her cast aside a perfectly good child and having to listen to his tears all the way back to the orphanage.

But then, she was Ashnard’s bride–or concubine to the very least. He couldn't see somebody merciful taking up with the Mad King. And he said that as one who respected their king, more or less.

It was The Mad King who'd gone and given them their rights back, and lifted up the poor. Now it wasn't just the nobles that had a piece of the pie. Of course, King Ashnard wasn't _too_ different. Plenty had been executed on his stake, but at least he might get a chance at glory before he died in the alley like a streetrat.

Now, the little curly haired boy he'd found for her would've clung to her leg and tried to cheer her up, but this one just stared with those haunting red eyes. And somehow, this was the one she wanted. It'd left a bad taste in his mouth how that little curly haired boy had cried all the way back to the orphanage.

"No matter...we have the rest of our lives now. We will leave this world of humans, and find a place where they cannot hurt us anymore.

She held out her hand, and finally, the boy drew a little closer.

She barely paid Juleg any mind.

"Thank you. That will do," she said. She dismissed him with coin to his palm and a faint air as if he were nothing more than the dust on her shoes.

He hated nobles like that. Hated the whole lot of them. Except for their coin. He'd manage what little politeness was left and bow to relieve some of their gold. But with Ashnard on the throne, one day he'd be up there with the coin and the power. All he had to do was survive trips to the coliseum long enough until he got himself a big army job. A general, one day, if he lived long enough.

Until then, it'd be jobs like this in the cold to get enough coin to furnish his rise.

He gave one last look at the boy. She held tight to his hand and led him away into the dark.

"Good riddance," he said to the dark and cold, though in his heart there was something like warmth that the boy had found his family.

*

"He was kind to you?" the woman said. Mother was a foreign word, now his own.

"Kinder than most," he said softly.

"Good. Had he not been, I would have taken the payment out of his flesh."

The air was cold again, but she clutched his hand tight with intense strength.

"There is no place for us, but we will find a space. Somewhere, far from this cursed place which has taken so much from me."

She pulled the boy beneath her cloak. He stopped fighting eventually, too numbed by the exposure and exhaustion.

"Like a little wild cat," she murmured.

He stared up at her. Still wary, still wild.

"I come from a place where dragons lived. I cannot go back there, but there will be a land for us."

Eventually, the city lights faded to nothing. They stayed at inns and crossed the world in ships as giant crows flew above.

And so it was that they settled in a worn cottage, far from any town. A place where he never had to fear about hunger, or if he would survive the cold of another night. Every night he had warm blankets and a lullaby, and most of all, a mother's

Every day when he went to play, Soren searched the hills and forests for a boy who had first given him kindness.

Now, there was another who was kind, even in her own intense way. Had any so much as given him a harsh glance, she would have ripped their skin off and left the bones for crows to pick.

He was not renamed, the past did not die. However, he was no longer cold and hungry. And he lived on, never forgetting the memory of the one who had shown him kindness first.

*

One day, travelers came to their door. One was tall, hard looking with brown skin and deep, piercing eyes. Beside him was a boy who looked not much older than him, with the same green and black hair, with the sheen of feathers, and the very same red eyes.

Except, his were filled with kindness.

Both had thick cloaks that hung from their shoulders, but the younger had let his hood down, and let it free enough to see the lacing upon his shirt.

"Kurth, you have come all this way? I cannot believe father would allow such a thing," Almedha said.

"I heard rumors, but I could scarcely believe them true. Oh, Almedha! You live even after all this time."

"Indeed, I have not been felled though some would like it," she said.

"And Rajaion?" Kurth said hopefully.

"He..." Almedha closed her mouth and said no more.

"Do not call forth ghosts," the man at the door spoke for the very first time.

Kurth bowed his head.

"I am afraid it is so. He lives, but barely. I could not save him. But I found my son at last."

Kurth smiled with much warmth at Soren.

"How old are you? I'm over five-hundred years old," the boy at the door said.

"Ten," Soren said.

Kurth smiled. "Then, we must be close to the same age,"

"Come back to Goldoa. Though he'd never admit it, father misses you so. You could introduce him to the rest of the court. Perhaps they know of a way to save Rajaion," Kurth said hopefully.

"There is nothing left for me there but ashes. My son and I have a life here."

"But...could you at least visit?" Kurth said hopefully.

Almedha looked down to Soren. "Do you wish to see the land of dragons?"

Could the one he was looking for be there? Soren could take no chances. So, finally he said, in a small voice _yes._

And so his life changed again. What little they had was packed in rush of activity. The worn down cottage was set aside. Almedha sang to him dragon lullabies in the bed of a ship. When the waves left him sick, she nursed him and threatened to destroy the very oceans themselves.

And one day, the ship stilled and they found land again.

Giant walls surrounded the massive city. Soren stared out from the shore, the salt spray filled with the new scents of flowers he had never known.

"We're here. Finally... home," Almedha said.

*


	2. Growing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and before I go on I should clarify that Soren is one of those solemn, too old for his years bookish type of children who spends all his days reading and thus has a larger vocabulary than some others around his age. Gifted child, basically.
> 
> This chapter exists because of Jen's tweets. Said tweets were like an angel (or maybe devil) on my shoulder that went "write more Almedha and Kurth" and so the entirety of the story shifted.
> 
> But on the bright side... you get more Almedha and Kurth?
> 
> Technically this has been ready since...very early Spring? I wasn't sure I could finish anything else in time for HT's birthday so I just put this chapter away to make sure that I wasn't late. Then I ended up being late anyways. OTZ. 
> 
> Oh, and canon-typical blood and gore? Because that's inevitable with Almedha. 
> 
> Thanks to my gf for betaing.

I. Growing

“The dragonkind are noted for their extremely long lives, but an aspect which is oft forgotten is how long their adolescence can be. A dragonling could be five hundred and resemble a mere youth in both body and mind. It can take several thousand years to reach full maturity as of beorc kind. The eldest among them remember even when the Goddess walked among us, and yet are the equivalent of a fifty year old beorc.”  
-from The Dragonkind of Goldoa by Lehryna the Wanderer as told to Sephiran Duke of Persis,   
chancellor of Begnion and adviser to the Apostles.

*

The servants were distant, and they did not seek him out. To them, he had the stench of a half-blood on him, just as the beasts of the forest had.

Soren knew. He sensed it. Even if they were more subtle about it, the boy knew of their disgust. If anything, theirs was worse than the cat beasts’ for it was full of false civility. If there was anything Soren couldn’t stand, it was lies cloaked in a pleasant demeanor. 

One of the first words he learned upon coming to Goldoa was "branded." He found it in a book within the many libraries, which quickly became his solace. 

_A mark of the wrath of the Goddess. This unholy blend of Laguz and Beorc results in the loss of power of the Laguz parent, no matter what the gender._

And it came into place. They hadn't wanted to receive his curse. He wasn't touched by a spirit who was eating him alive. He was worse: a person cast down by the Goddess, unwanted by the world; a destroyer.

But somewhere out there, there was a boy who had looked him right in the eyes, offered him food and kindness. And one day, he would thank him.

*

Soren spent most of his days in the library, hidden under tables and in corners. He was out of place, out of the way, but not too hidden. Once, he'd fallen asleep there, and his mother had gone into a panic that made the walls shudder. It had taken quite some time to still her.

(And Soren learned the force and fury of his mother's love. Like a storm, the entire walls of Goldoa could fall to.)

Soren turned the pages. All of a sudden, a man cleared his throat.

"Do you desire anything, Lord Soren?" the man asked. “Kurth sent me to check on you.”

Gareth was very tall, and a red dragon at that. The hung around Kurth as some kind of guardian. Gareth, that was his name. 

Soren could remember the names of the staff if he tried. He'd memorized far more difficult things, but he hadn't bothered. He and Mother were bound to leave eventually. And even if he didn't, this hardly mattered. If they offered him no humanity, he would offer them none either.

In the end, they were just more people who had closed their doors upon him.

"Nothing," Soren said. 

He bowed his head back into the dry solace of his books. They were quiet, and they did not look at him with a critical eye. They said nothing of his blood, whether loud and harsh or the quiet screaming behind locked lips.

"All right then. I will tell Kurth."

Soren didn't reply. He didn't even look up from the book. There was no need.

Soren knew the stares and how the dragons looked right through him, just as the beasts of the forest had. Almedha may have been a princess, but he was a pariah. When he learned that word, among many with the large dictionary, he took to it. How fitting.

But, they did not dare attack, given that he was Almedha's son. There was talk of Soren getting a bodyguard of his own, except none of the dragons wished to guard him. Soren had overheard that very conversation, a book on his lap, his ear to the gap in a door.

Even as his mother demanded they respect him, Soren knew. He could sense every downcast gaze.

When it had happened the first time, his mother had been livid and threatened to leave again. Tensions were always under the surface against the dragon king. Kurth had pleaded for her to stay, and stay they had. His mother became his guard at his side every moment. He couldn't slip away into the library.

There were many books to pass the time away, and Soren had long gotten used to the stares, the cold and callousness of beorckind and dragons and beasts alike. Soren ignored the dragons as they ignored him, and he found a wealth of knowledge there.

Here was an untold peace. Soren was used to people looking at him with disgust. The beasts of the forest had, even the people of the towns hadn't given him food. At least Mother was here, and he wouldn't have to worry about starvation. All except one, for Kurth seemingly did not get the message known to all the other dragons. He sought out Soren at every turn with a smile and kind words, and more often than not, a treat.

Soren turned another page.

"There you are." Kurth smiled as he bent down to where Soren had curled up underneath a table with a book spread on the floor. A blanket had been dragged to lessen the chill of the stone floor. "Gareth told me where to find you."

"You must not have looked very hard, for I am almost always here," Soren said.

Kurth smiled. "Not entirely! I thought I saw you slip out of the castle and into the streets. Given you were headed to the market, I thought maybe you wanted some tart plums."

Soren had never tried to buy anything at the market road, for he had no idea if he could even buy something or if they would look past him, through him as he held out his gold. He'd once clutched his mother's hand as she walked past the many shops and stalls.

"I… saw a bird," Soren lied.

A flimsy excuse, but still, Soren searched. It was fruitless. Of course he wouldn't be here. But Soren still looked, as one would draw breath. Intrinsically, automatically. Soren looked aside. Somewhere, he still lived and Soren would find him.

"A bird? What kind?"

"Red," Soren said quickly.

"Hmm, that is very interesting. Perhaps one of the books will say more."

"Don't pretend."

Kurth's brow furrowed in confusion. "Pretend what? Was there some game I wasn't informed of?"

Soren leveled his gaze to Kurth. "That you care. I know better. You need not waste politeness upon me."

"Of course I care. You're my family. My nephew, I think is the exact term. Though it hardly feels so, for we are not far in age. What are you, five hundred?"

Soren gazed at him blankly. "Eight."

"Eight hundred? My, you have aged differently than I."

"No, eight. Eight years old."

"Hmm, the beorc age strangely. When I was that size, I was two hundred years old." At Soren's stony silence, he held up his hand in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry, I meant no offense. I am still unsure of the customs of beorc."

Soren averted his gaze. "It seems I'm not a beorc, at least not entirely."

When Mother talked of his father, he could just catch sight of her teeth as if she'd gladly rip away at his throat. But he still existed somewhere, a king of a cold land called Daein.

The books said that memories faded with time, but they were written by beorc. Soren had no idea how the dragon blood would affect him, for Mother always said memories lived within them for eternity.

Soren didn't remember what had happened, but Mother had been sure to tell him just how worthless, backstabbing he was. 

_He threw you away. How I'd like to throw his bones away into the wastelands to be eaten by wolves when I was done with him… he would long for death when I was done with him._

"Aren't you?" Kurth asked.

"I'm nothing at all," Soren replied.

Nowhere was home, not even humanity. Books would offer a solace, but only temporary. He didn't fit among the laguz nor the beorc. 

But somewhere, there was a boy he could fit beside. Would he turn aside from him? The thought chilled him, and yet he still had to find him.

"Don't say that. You're… something," Kurth faltered, unsure how to continue. "Aren't you?"

"All of your kind look right through me. The beasts in the forest left me to starve, and if they were not commanded so, the dragons would do. That is how the laguz think of anyone who is as they call 'branded.' The beorc did not treat me any better." Soren looked out the window at the country of dragons. "They walk on by. Never even lift a hand to help..."

"You're mistaken. You're a prince like me. They cannot help but set themselves apart. You're related to my father, so of course they don't come too close. They revere him like a god."

"No," Soren said. "Even more; they would gladly trade me for Rajaion if they could."

Sadness came over Kurth. "I'm very sorry some of my kind has treated you so… you don't deserve it. So few of us have met any of the Beorc. Maybe we just need to talk, so things will be better. It wasn't your fault that Rajaion went. He wanted to help Almedha."

"If we're speaking in literal terms, it _is_ my fault. If I was never born, Rajaion would still be here, and Mother would still be able to transform."

"Don't say such things." Kurth looked so sad.

"I know that many would gladly trade me for Rajaion's return if that were possible."

"I wouldn't."

For a moment, Soren was reminded of a boy who held out a bit of food to him when he was starving, but the moment passed.

"I should talk to them, tell them their actions are hurting you—"

"Do not bother," Soren said coldly. "I will not be here long. And I do not care about them."

Alarm filled Kurth's voice. "What are you speaking of? Almedha has spoken of no plans to travel. She's leaving again—"

"It is inevitable, isn't it? Mother will leave, and so will I."

And he was somewhere out there, and Soren would find him.

When Soren wasn't in the library, he explored the vast city. The people gave him a wide breadth and avoided his gaze whenever possible. 

"Sometimes, I get tired of always being a ghost," Soren said.

"Soren?"

Soren closed the book and walked out into the halls past the dragons that lived in the castle, the servants, and the royal family alike who never paid him any mind.

It was better this way, he told himself.

*

When Soren returned, it had already grown dark. He hadn't found even a crumb of a clue on his way, though he did find a new library to visit; not quite as grand as the royal libraries of Goldoa, but with many interesting tomes nonetheless.

Except many were far too large for Soren to lift. He would have to ask for assistance or figure out a specific means of finding a way to the tomes. (Perhaps if he followed after another reader, he could read the books once they'd been pulled down onto the long table.)

"Soren, come here."

Even returned to the castle, mother wore the vestments of mourning. Dark clothes, a dark veil that partly covered her face. Her hair was the same shade as his, and was pulled back into a severe bun which only made the features of her face sharper, more angular. 

His mother had rarely raised her voice to him, but he had witnessed her rage before in talks with the dragon king or remembering his father.

"You went out of the castle again," Almedha said.

Soren remained silent.

"Is it the way they treat you?" Almedha asked. “Are you trying to run away? I'd wage war upon the entire dragonkind, even my own family, if they said a single harsh word to you.”

They didn't say harsh words. It was a certain feeling of distrust he could sense behind polite seeming indifference.

Soren shook his head. "I was looking for something."

"Then what? Whatever it is, I will find it, even if I must destroy the fundaments of earth to shake it loose." 

Soren remained silent.

"I lost you once. I cannot imagine the pain of losing you again. Do you understand?"

Soren nodded slowly. She bent down to his level and hugged him close. Her arms held a power that could rip each stone from the walls of Goldoa if she wanted. These arms kept him safe, kept away anyone who would hurt him.

No longer would he have cold nights filled with terrifying night sounds and the ache in his stomach.

"If you want to go walking in the town, tell me and I will make sure you don't get lost," she said.

"He could take Gareth," Kurth suddenly interjected.

Both Soren and Almedha stared to the open door where a rather abashed Kurth stood.

"Sorry— I wasn't eavesdropping. I was just passing and heard a small amount. I was— looking for Soren."

"No," Soren said.. "He is your guard."

"Then another guard. That way, Soren can still look about and be safe. After all, with all that time he spends in the library, he must be stir-crazy."

"You already had this conversation. No one wanted to."

"You heard that?"

Soren nodded.

Almedha sighed. "You are far too intelligent and astute for your own good, my boy."

"I would guard Soren," Kurth said.

"Don't be silly. You're too young for such a thing. You need a guard of your own," Almedha said.

"I can transform," Kurth protested. 

"Why do you always speak up for me?" Soren asked.

Kurth gave him a confused look. "You're my family. And I'm glad to finally have met you, and have you come live with us. Is it that hard to believe?"

Soren gave him a critical glance, which was enough of an answer in its own.

Kurth looked hurt. "You don't… believe me?"

He could see no angle that would drive Kurth to show him kindness. He had no guilt towards him, and Soren had no grand inheritance to offer. He no longer had the mask of being touched by a spirit which made him desirable. Though, if and when he left these walls, he would don it again.

He'd read enough books to be able to mimic the symptoms; the sudden exhaustion as the spirit devoured the soul.

"I'm not used to that kind of kindness," Soren said softly.

"I am sure there is someone in the entirety of Goldoa who is too loyal to the crown or could be swayed by coin to guard him," Almedha said. "And I aim to find that person."

And when Mother had an idea, she would stubbornly cling to it until it came true. It always had been like that. Soren could only think that he had gained it from her.

*

It only took her a single day in her journey. Either she was that determined, the dragon king himself had stepped in. Maybe both.

"I have someone I want you to meet."

Almedha took Soren by the hand and led him through the stone halls until they came to one room hidden away. Soren had never seen this room before, though to be fair, he had not thoroughly explored the castles. It was small and filled with tapestries of ancient beings. A woman with long purple hair wielded two huge swords. Beside her was a large lion, a heron with wings outspread, and the dragon king himself.

At the other walls were bookcases. Was this another library?

"What is this?"

"A prayer chamber for monks," Almedha replied simply. 

"Then the books?"

She laughed softly. "Leave it to you to ask first about those. You're such a little scholar. I believe they are probably books of prayers."

"Oh," Soren said, unable to hide his disappointment.

A man rose up from his kneeling position on the floor. He bowed low at the sight of them.

"I am Dasha, my lord," the man said.

Dasha was tall and tanned, with thick forearms covered with scars and tattoos and bright red hair that hung long down his back. The tattoos continued about his face, especially around his eyes. This was the mark of a monk devoted to the Goddess Soren had remembered reading once in the history of Goldoa.

Dark robes came up to his collar, edged in gold with the words of the old language upon him. At his wrist, Soren could see more tattoos— his entire body must have been covered with the word of the Goddess.

"If you have need of anything, I will procure it, Lord Soren. I will guard you to my very last breath. This is the very will of the Goddess herself, passed down to me from the Dragon King, who spoke with Her Holiness personally." He bowed low again until his ponytail swung over his shoulder.

"No. That title isn't mine. This city isn't mine. Calling me 'Soren' will do."

"You are a son of Lady Almedha," Dasha said. “I would never even think to cast any insult upon the king's children.”

"I do not need a dragon's sense to tell when I am not wanted," Soren said. "I can see it clearly."

Dasha remained silent. Even he, Soren thought, didn't want him around.

"It is not a matter of want; I serve the dragon king with every breath. He served the Goddess, and gazed upon her glory directly. He walked among the land with Altina and Lehran and Soan, the heroes of yore. You are his kin, and I will protect you. I am yours to command, Lord Soren."

"I am Soren and only that. That is what you will call me."

Almedha sighed. "Really, a few years in the beorc lands, and you think yourself a commoner. Any beorc who made you feel worthless should be torn to pieces by my fangs."

It wasn't the name Almedha had given him, the one in dragontongue he had never known. Just as he had been ripped away from his mother's side, left in the gutter to rot away until a sage picked him up, thinking he was touched by a spirit.

He had gotten this name somewhere along the way, picked up from refuse piles and the doorways he had slept in for a little semblance of warmth. Almedha still called him by the name she had given him at time, in the dragon tongue. 

"Yes, Lord Soren."

This was one war Soren saw that could not be so easily won.

"Why are you doing this?" Soren asked.

"Because it is the will of the Goddess," Dasha replied.

"Some say I am a curse of the Goddess."

"The legends say Soan married a human after his laguz wife died. If Almedha has taken a human as a mate, then I leave it up to the Goddess."

"He is not my mate," Almedha said. “Were he here, I would tear out his organs and feast upon them.”

Dasha nodded. "So it is. Almedha is as fearsome as the wrath of the Goddess herself."

"Then you do not view me as a curse?" Soren said. His voice trembled slightly, with surprise.

"Lehran and Soan were greatly blessed and favored by the Goddess. She did not strike them down for loving a beorc."

Dasha bowed before him. "I will protect you until my dying breath, my prince."

"...all right. I'll allow it. I spend most of my days within the libraries, so you will have lots of time to read too. But sometimes, I want to go outside."

Dasha chuckled. "So forthright and blunt! You're definitely Almedha's beloved child."

Soren gave him a curt nod. As soon as this was over, he would finally have time to return to his books.

*

A year in Goldoa meant little when many of the dragons were thousands of years old. But as the years passed, Soren grew until one day, he stopped aging.

Just another quirk of his blood. According to the books, his lifespan would be longer than a human's, but shorter than a dragon's.

So it went. As the years passed, Soren was stuck in time, though he could hardly ask. Dasha was caught within his prayers and memories of a time past. Kurth was kind, but little help in this matter, for he was a full dragon and dragons' lives spanned a millennia or more.

Even the books were limited. He had both beorc and dragon blood in him. At seventeen, when the books said he would be hitting a growth spurt, it was as if the clocks stopped.

Soren kept pouring over the books, yet they offered no answer. Would it be better to find others like himself or to find other libraries?

A soft voice broke through his reverie. "Have you remembered to eat?"

Dasha remained by him, silent in his prayers. Soren was beneath the table as Kurth peered down. He held out a little bit of food. "You get so caught up in your books, you forget to come for lunch and dinner… and even breakfast now that I think of it."

"I get things from the kitchen later when I am hungry; much less trouble."

Like a common rat, the vermin they thought of him as. Then he wouldn't have to wander to the table like a ghost, the weight of the sin of being born, and the sin of Rajaion taken for him.

"Come to dinner," Kurth said as if he had a bit of seed and was trying to convince a bird to eat from his hand. “It's quite good.” 

It would be more trouble than it was worth to argue with Kurth on this, for Kurth always saw the good in the world. Soren could only blame that upon his sheltered upbringing, for Soren knew better. Soren had seen every ugliness within the world and barely survived to tell of it. Even now, he had scars of starving, of the cold.

Soren closed his book. "Fine, but only just this once."

Dasha rose, his rosary still in his tattooed hands. "Let me escort you then, Lord Soren."

Soren inclined his head, and together they all headed through the wide, cold hallways that made up the Goloan castle.

The dining room was vast. Tapestries were hung on the walls of history: Lehran and Altina, Soan of the beasts, and the dragon king himself. Dasha would look at them with such pride every time he passed. Between them all was the red-haired Goddess.

She'd never heeded his prayers, but then again, he wasn't among her children now, was he?

Dheginsea was like a mountain more than a man. He was ancient with unknown knowledge and sadness in his eyes. He walked past Soren without acknowledging him. Soren remembered the beasts of the forest who had done the same, who had let him starve.

Almedha suddenly stepped in front of the king.

"You will treat my son with respect."

The dragon king did not even need to raise his voice. His craggy face was filled with the edge of thousands of years of loss and pain. "You would wage another war with me?"

"I may not be able to transform any longer, but I will not simply stand by and let you blame him for my choices. If this continues, we will leave and live among the beorc again."

Kurth looked heartbroken. "Sister, don't… you've only just returned. If you should leave now, y-you would never return."

Time was different to dragons. Soren had been only five when he came here, and now he was seventeen. This many years was nothing to laguz who lived centuries. 

"So be it. I've left this land behind once, I can do it again. Soren and I will find a nice cottage somewhere in the wilds," Almedha said.

"Please, father," Kurth begged in a soft, entreating voice.

"Come eat," was all he said before he sat at the head of the table. He did not even glance down at Soren, but it was a concession nonetheless. 

Perhaps leaving was not such a bad idea after all. Of course, he had not found Ike within these halls. Mother would not abandon him. Together they could search the country. Mother would like Ike, he thought. And Kurth... 

Soren frowned. Somehow, Kurth had found a way beneath Soren's defenses. No matter how aloof Soren was, he always came back.

Well, it would be regrettable, but Kurth would recover. 

*

Kurth had been overjoyed at the news… or at least, he’d been composed with happiness.. Dragons weren’t particularly known for their outbursts of emotion; everything was a slow escalation, even making even the simplest of decisions of the country took hundreds of years as a minimum. 

Kurth had been in good spirits for days when the travelers had been beached on their shores, the first new faces in almost a thousand years.

No one could accuse Goldoa of being hasty.

"Soren— there's humans! Oh, perhaps I should say Beorc? The books don't specify which is more polite..." Kurth turned thoughtful. "Do you know? You lived among them for so long."

Soren looked up from his book.

"Beorc are nothing noteworthy," Soren said. “I've only known one boy in my life who ever showed even a tiny shred of kindness. They're motivated by money and their own selfishness, that's all.”

The world passed to war. Goldoa stood alone, walled away from every conflict. Even as their laguz brothers came to battle, they would not back down in their neutrality.

Kurth always excused his father. _He has his reasons. He remembers the old times._

Soren knew it was not cowardice, but something deeper. Not that he was deeply worried of the plight of those laguz around him, of course. Soren would have offered them no aid had he even the power. If they would pass by him as he starved, then he would do the same as they fought a fruitless battle with the humans.

"I'm going out to meet them."

Soren frowned. "By yourself?"

"No, I'll take Gareth. Are you coming, Soren?"

Soren considered this for a moment. Perhaps they would know where Ike was. Perhaps he could learn a clue....  
No, that was a foolish endeavor. If they saw him, they would surely heap scorn upon him, just as so many other beorc had. He'd get far more value simply here in the library.

"No… it would be a waste of time."

He should ask Nasir for more birth records. Somewhere, in some country, there was a boy named Ike. And one day, he would find him, and he would thank him for that kindness. No matter how many years it took.

*

The day was sunny enough that Soren could not keep focus. He finally left the library and found his guard seated nearby.

"I will go out today, Dasha."

Dasha's head had been bent in a reverie, his large and calloused hands clasped before him. He opened his eyes and considered Soren. "As you will, Lord Soren."

"Are you going out?"

Dasha and Soren glanced back to the door.

"I..." Kurth cleared his throat. "...was just passing by."

"Of course you are welcome, my lord," Dasha said.

Soren remained silent at that.

"I'm glad you finally came since you didn't wish to last time," Kurth said.

"I just wanted to, is all," Soren said under his breath.

Kurth kept smiling, for he was in such a good mood. Little things affected him so.

Then it was down the stairs and into the daylight. Dasha stayed near as Soren surveyed the market. It was quite a bit more bustling and noisy than his beloved libraries, but the library didn't have a food stall. (He should invent one, Soren thought.)

The path was filled with such activity and noise. Soren stared, filled with irritation at the bard playing a tune and many sellers calling out their wares to the streets.

"Is all this noise really necessary?" he asked.

Kurth stopped immediately at the first fruit stall they came to, which was certainly no surprise. "The fruit looks so lovely and fresh. Would you want a tart plum, Soren?" Kurth reached out for a tart plum and laid gold on the stall. "No need to pay, for you are the prince of this land."

Soren reached for a plum as well.

The woman running the fruit stall nodded to Soren. "That will be three pieces of gold."

"Soren is the son of Almedha and a prince, too. You should treat him as such at all times. More than that, he is my friend. And I will not tolerate anyone treating him unkindly. No matter what your reasons are, I will not accept them. Please make your apologies."

His friend? Those were the words he had never expected.

The saleswoman instantly bowed. "My apologies, my prince. I did not realize with the hood."

"It is all right. You didn't mean to." Kurth smiled kindly.

Kurth always had such kindness. It was somewhat confusing to Soren like watching from the outside in.

He could never be like that. As many said, he was too much like his mother.

*

When he returned, his mother stood, imposing and clad in black in the hall. She bent down to see him. 

"Have they been cruel to you, my darling?" There was a fire, a passion in her eyes.

"Kurth corrected them," Soren replied.

"They are not even worthy of touching your cloak. Lift your chin, my son. Never forget that you are a prince twice over."

"I am a prince," Soren said.

To comfort her, though the title and words were meaningless. He'd never worn a crown in his life. Not when he nearly froze within Daein, and certainly now. At least he no longer had to starve and scrounge around in the garbage for food.

*

While he wasn't touched by spirits, Soren did take to the magical tomes. He couldn't transform or fly, but the wind could be bent to his will with the right incantation. Green winds would alight and raise up leaves in massive swirls, which disappeared in an instant and a flick of Soren's hand.

When he wasn't searching the lands with Kurth, or studying, Soren took to practicing this talent. A thing dragons could not do. 

Often, servants would gather around to watch display. Mother and Kurth, also would watch with rapt awe at every spin and whirl.

Kurth clasped his hands together. His cloak obscured his tunic. The the aftershocks of the windstorm blew back his hair, the same shade as mother's, and his own.

"How lovely! I've never seen such a display!"

"It's not a festival trick," Soren muttered.

"Sorry, I meant no offense," Kurth said. “It was just so beautiful.” 

Kurth crossed the training grounds, until he stood just before Soren. "You know, you've almost caught up to me in height." 

From on the sidelines of the training grounds, two elder dragons watched, two who had seen the world for many years though many wars.

"He looks so much like Rajaion," Almedha said.

Soren glanced back. Dheginsea smiled, ever so slightly. He met Soren's eyes, and the smile didn't disappear. The dragon king's face held pain and stoicicsm. And for once, it held a bit of happiness.

Soren returned to his books, and began the magic work again. It was easier to read the runic inscriptions than to try and read the king of dragons. 

*

News came slowly to them, and Daein had been without a king for several months when it came to Goldoa.

When she heard, Almedha smiled so cruelly, so pleased, and then laughed. She went out to the wall and looked in the direction of the bitter cold winters that she had lived through. Soren followed behind her. He was no longer quite as small. The staff paid him little mind now. 

He had accustomed to this place, bit by bit.

"So you got what you deserved. My only regret is I was not there to personally slit your chest in two and pull out each organ bit by bit until you begged for death."

She smiled and pulled her shawl closer. She often took to spend time by herself at the high edge of the walls and think. Soren, at times, came too. They would be in silence together.

"Who killed _him_?"

Mother did not like the man being referred to as 'Father' and indeed, Soren could agree. He had no memories of him, yet when Almedha spoke of him, her voice turned poisonous. 

"Ike of Crimea, the reports say. He led a mercenary group."

"Ike..."

Had the boy who once had given him sustenance and kindness, survived to avenge him even then? Logic said it would be a coincidence. There were many Ikes in this world, but the thought that his Ike was still somewhere out there made him smile.

The wind caught his hair as he stared out. Somewhere, the boy who had shown him kindness lived. One day, he would get to thank him personally.

His mother was lost in memories, finally happy after years of bitterness. 

Soren, too, found a kind of happiness.


End file.
